Bleary-eyed, Felicity struggled up, blinking in the brightening light as the maid dragged all the bed-curtains back. The shutters were open and sun was spilling into the room from the wide windows.
“Let me bank your pillows, miss, and then you can be comfortable.”
Easter banged the pillows back into shape and dropped them at her back. Felicity leaned thankfully into them and accepted the cup the girl handed her. The steaming aroma curling up into her nostrils was both appetising and comforting. She sipped and the rich sweetness rolled across her tongue. For a few minutes, she indulged in the unaccustomed luxury, grateful for its cushioning effect. But the unbidden thought of the might-have-been sneaked in to taunt her. This could have been her life from here on.
At this instant, exhausted from her restless night, Felicity felt as if she would sell her soul for a lifetime of morning chocolate and being waited on hand and foot. She wriggled her toes as the heat between her cupped hands permeated all the way down her body, pooling in her loins. All for a bargain of pretence!
“Ooh, I forgot, miss. There’s a note from the master on the tray.”
Felicity almost dropped the cup. She clutched it, gazing at Easter, who set down the gown she was shaking out and hurried over to the press where she had left a tray. With a soar of hope, Felicity watched her pick up a folded sheet and hurry across, holding it up.
“Here you are, miss. Mr Bilting give it to me. That’s his lordship’s valet, miss.”
Felicity set down the half-empty cup of chocolate on the bedside table and held out a shaking hand. She took the missive with a word of thanks, her bosom a riot of dread and longing. The folded letter was sealed and Felicity turned it over and read the superscription of her name, written in flowing black letters. Raoul’s hand? It must be.
She waited for Easter to busy herself with the gown again and broke the seal, unfolding the paper. Another piece of paper fell from it to the coverlet, splitting in two. Felicity snatched up one, but stared at the other. It was a bank note for ten pounds. Confused, she looked at the one in her fingers. Mr Rusper’s bank draft?
Her eye went back to the letter. It was short and to the point.
Felicity —
You should take charge of this yourself. I am advancing you a little on account so that you need not apply to me. I know how you value your independence. Hugh Summerhayes can bank the draft for you as well as me if you will go to Angelica for a space. I do not presume to dictate to you, but you might with advantage stay with her while you decide how to proceed. Say the word and I will convey you at your earliest convenience.
Lynchmere
Her heart dropped. He wanted her gone. He did not even want the responsibility of being her banker. She was to be shuffled off onto his cousin, like a parcel. He could not wait to rid himself of her. Oh, what had she done?
Lynchmere. He had signed with his title, not his name. Alienated indeed. All the intimacy of their journey — the closeness, the quarrels, the laughter — was thrown away as of no account.
The words jumped out at her as she read them again.Alittleonaccount?Tenpounds? So that she would not have occasion to ask him for money. Then he need not hear her voice or speak to her again. But he said he would convey her, did he not? What did that mean? Surely he would not drive her himself? No, more like he would send her in a carriage with a maid for chaperon, only to satisfy Angelica. After which, she would never see him again.
Her heart rose up in rebellion. It was not to be borne. She would not let him cast her aside, like a worn glove.
“I must get up!”
Easter turned from the press, looking startled. “Now, miss?”
Felicity was already throwing off the covers. “Yes, now.”
“But I’ve to fetch your hot water first, miss,” said the maid, hurrying to the bed as if she would prevent Felicity from getting out. She peeped into the cup on the bedside table. “And you’ve not finished your chocolate, miss.”
“I don’t want it. Fetch the water at once, if you please.” Easter looked crestfallen and a sliver of conscience pricked at Felicity. She forced a smile. “I will finish the chocolate while you fetch the water.” The girl brightened and began towards the door. “And hurry!”
Easter threw another startled look over her shoulder and broke into a skipping run. Felicity watched her leave and then grabbed up the letter again. Absently, she picked up the cup and drank as she read, hardly tasting its contents for the concentration of her thoughts.
How dared he treat her so dismissively? After all they had been through together. Even if he hated her, he need not write as if she was of no account. Oh, he knew she valued her independence, did he? Well, he would discover how much. It was not merely a question of finance, my lord marquis, and so he would find. What of independence of spirit? Independence of choice?Idonotpresumetodictatetoyou… She should think not indeed! But of course he meant it for sarcasm, did he not? She could just see that twist of his lips in the wry look he wore when he made one of his cryptic observations. Exactly like that one.
Youwait, mylordmarquis!He and his palatial residence would not intimidate Felicity.
She tipped the cup to her lips and found it empty. As she set it down, her eye caught on the bank note, discarded to one side. She snatched it up. Ten pounds? He had paid twenty for the privilege of her company at the wretched auction. A bagatelle to him, as had been obvious from the start. Ten pounds? It was nothing short of an insult.
But the anger that had buoyed her to this moment had begun to dissipate, giving way to a feeling of corroding humiliation. Would ten pounds get her to Middenhall? To Nanny Kimble? A longing for that ample bosom overtook her. She wanted to sink her head on it and cry her eyes out. What in the world had she been thinking? Had she really thought she could beard Raoul and tear him to pieces in his own home?
She wanted to. Oh, she did — so much. But for what? He was not going to renew his offer, was he? He wanted nothing more to do with her, and if she screamed like a banshee, which she would dearly love to do, he would just laugh in that heartless way he had and throw her another careless bank note.
By the time Easter reappeared with a jug of steaming water, listlessness had overtaken Felicity and she had no idea in the world what she was going to do. Instead of racing through her ablutions as she had intended, she made a desultory job of washing, forgetting her face and then starting all over again when she remembered.
Easter, standing patiently with the towel ready, tutted at her. “You ain’t got your mind on what you’re doing, miss. Here, let me.”
